


A Process Question

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Episode Related, F/M, First Time, Insecurity, Michael is bad at feelings, Past Relationship(s), Porn, Secret Crush, and human-ing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25931026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Yeah, you should hit that," Tilly agreed.Michael stared at her. "And how would you like me to go about doing that?" she asked, faint. Mystified. He was thecaptain. He was hercommanding officer. Even if she wanted to open herself up to...something, it was wildly inappropriate."Oh, is this a process question? Because I can totally be your wing-woman. Seriously, give me the green light and I'll—""Absolutely not."
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 62
Kudos: 186





	A Process Question

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place immediately after 2.05 "Saints of Imperfection." What Tilly says is true; at the end of that episode Pike really does track Michael across the bridge for no reason. Separately, I will never not find it hilarious that the synthesizer listed off a chicken pot pie among all the food flung at Tilly in the "Runaway" Short Trek. I had to use it.

Michael took in Tilly as she laughed at something Owo said, bright and cheerful and fully recovered from her ordeal in the mycelial network, eating lunch like nothing had happened. The mess hall buzzed around them, the crowd as content as Michael. It was a relief to have pulled off the rescue mission successfully, to have her back, whole and unharmed. 

Tilly looked over, her grin turning devious. "And how's your crush on the captain?" 

There were some things she wouldn't mind _not_ having back, Tilly's propensity to share chief among them. That awful mixture of cold heat swept through Michael's gut as she shot a quick glance to Owo and Detmer, then frowned. "Tilly."

"Oh, I already told them," Tilly said breezily, as if it were no big deal. "I had to make sure there was someone who knew to keep bugging you about it in case I have another brush with death."

"There will be no more brushes with death," Michael said, sharp. "And my...interest is irrelevant." She didn't like to _think_ about it, much less talk about it...or open it up for public comment. Tilly never had shared her affinity for discretion; it was something Michael had accepted as the price of the friendship she valued so dearly. 

Tilly made an affronted noise. "You deserve some loving, don't be like that." 

Michael flushed at the images that inspired even as Owo and Detmer looked at her with mollifying smiles. "It was no surprise to me," Owo offered, cheerful. "You kept watching him on Terralysium. Tilly just confirmed my suspicions."

Embarrassment replaced heat as Michael realized how transparent she must be. She'd thought she was doing a fine job of keeping her feelings to herself. Apparently not. 

"Yeah, and besides, Pike's smokin' hot," Detmer put in. "Nhan says he's got a whole club of admirers back on the _Enterprise_."

"Excuse me, this is the first I'm hearing of it," Tilly said, a whiff of accusation there. 

"Caught her in the turbolift this morning," Detmer explained, as if she had to justify not telling Tilly everything. Which, given Tilly's breadth of knowledge, might actually be true. "Something happened a couple years ago and he's been playing monk ever since, but before that he was super selective, super discreet," Detmer said, popping some asparagus in her mouth like it was totally normal to discuss the captain's sexual history over lunch. 

Some days Michael just did not get humanity at all.

But there was another side to it, the pathetic part of Michael desperately intrigued by that same sexual history, wondering what had changed. Wondering about his selection criteria.

The roiling discomfort in her gut was why she preferred to _avoid_ emotional entanglements. It was all so messy and contradictory and maddening. 

"So you're saying he's sexually frustrated," Tilly said, a scheming glint to her eye. 

"Two years? Who wouldn't be?" Owo said, sipping her green juice. 

Detmer and Tilly nodded, like this was a universal fact. Michael blinked, knocked out of her own contemplation, a little surprised. She had definitely gone more than two years without sex, in the past, and it was fine. Part of her wanted to ask, but from their knowing agreement, it seemed like this would be another area where she was an outlier. And given the conversation, she didn't need any more personal questions.

Tilly nibbled at a carrot, contemplative. "I just wonder when Tyler's going to figure it out. Talk about drama. Maybe I can get myself assigned to the bridge for a while." 

Michael stiffened. "That won't happen." The sick feeling in her gut intensified at the idea of Tyler—who had hurt her so profoundly—seeing her affections for Pike. There was something...unjust about it. He shouldn't get such insight into her feelings; he'd given up that right. 

"What? The figuring it out or the bridge assignment?" Tilly asked, seeming completely serious about both. 

Michael shook her head, determined. "Don't even bother asking because Tyler won't be figuring anything out." 

Tilly cocked her head, like she hated to relay bad news, but..."I mean, he does know you. And there's also the Pike factor."

Michael frowned, not understanding. 

"I need context for that," Owo said, echoing Michael's thoughts.

Detmer nodded in agreement. "Yeah, what's the Pike factor?"

Tilly looked at them like this should be obvious. "Duh, Pike likes her back."

Owo and Detmer brightened even as a flash of desperate hopeful _heat_ spiraled through Michael. She ruthlessly quashed it, not wanting to be the fool ever again. "You don't know that," she said, quiet. 

Tilly wrinkled her nose at Michael. "Four hours ago I literally watched him track you across the entire bridge, all the way to your station, for no reason. Other than your fabulous ass, of course. Hell, I think even Saru noticed and he actively avoids people's romantic entanglements."

Hope flared again as that image flashed in her mind, Pike's eyes trailing after her, unable to look away. But still, Michael couldn't let herself trust it. "Please tell me this is one of your jokes."

"I never joke about captain dick. There's, like, a regulation."

Owo grinned as Detmer looked to Michael, all bright support: "You should go for it." 

Michael blinked, taken aback. What did that even _mean_? "He's the captain. I can't just..." she trailed off, making a helpless gesture. 

Detmer's brow furrowed. "What can't you do?"

"All the regulations on relationships strictly concern abuse of power," Owo added helpfully. "I am certain the captain would be sensitive to such things."

"Yeah, you should hit that," Tilly agreed. 

Michael stared at her. "And how would you like me to go about doing that?" she asked, faint. Mystified. He was the _captain_. He was her _commanding officer_. Even if she wanted to open herself up to...something, it was wildly inappropriate. 

"Oh, is this a process question? Because I can totally be your wing-woman. Seriously, give me the green light and I'll—"

"Absolutely not," Michael said instantly, not even needing to hear what Tilly would do, panic making her heart pound. "Red light. Big red light."

"Okay, okay, jeez," Tilly said, palms up to show her surrender. 

"You have an unusual perspective," Owo decided, thoughtful. 

"Right?" Tilly asked, like she couldn't fathom it.

"I don't get it," Detmer agreed. "But, you know, whatever makes you happy."

"I'm happy with how things are," Michael said firmly. Because she was. 

_She was_.

***

Michael thought about the lunchtime conversation all the way to the ready room. As uneasy as it made her, she did find herself preoccupied by thoughts of Pike, inappropriate though it may be. 

She just didn't know what to do about it. The bounds of propriety ensnared them all. Even aside from that, Michael had always been hopeless at relationships. If she did want anything more, she wouldn't even know where to begin. How did one make such an advance? In her limited experience, it hadn't been an issue; men had pursued her. She'd never been on the other side of it, going to someone else and professing feelings. Or desires. 

Part of her figured it might be better to leave it, but then Pike would look at her a certain way, everything around them seeming to still...and she wondered. 

Michael put those thoughts out of her mind as the turbolift slowed. Such personal matters had no place in the ready room. 

She stepped inside, stilling in surprise at the palpable tension, Pike squaring off against Cornwell, unhappiness spiking off him in waves. Cornwell's shoulders were tight. 

"That's bullshit and the fact that you expect me to believe it—"

Cornwell cut him off: "You know, some days I wish we were back when I could put your mouth to better use." 

"Oh, Kitty-Kat, we both know I can multitask," he shot back, dark, tone laced with innuendo. 

Michael's breath caught, that cold-heat careening through her, not sure if she should stay or go. Not sure what to _feel_. His mouth to better use—that meant—the two of them had—

Cornwell narrowed her eyes at Pike, like he was on thin ice. "That'll do," she said, tone shutting him down as she moved to the briefing table. 

Pike focused on Michael then, the connection of his eyes on hers startling something else within her. "Burnham, please," he said, gesturing her toward the briefing table, where Cornwell was settling in.

"I don't mean to interrupt," she said, hesitant. 

"Please, interrupt Captain Pike right off his high horse," Cornwell said, dry, shooting Pike a look, but her eyes returned to Michael, something measuring in them. Michael shifted, feeling inexplicably judged. 

Michael had _no idea_ how to respond. These two had always been familiar with each other, but this was on a whole new level, one that slid discomfort down Michael's spine. She'd like to think it was just that seeing her superiors at odds was unsettling...but even she couldn't swallow that lie. The personal revelations still had her reeling, not knowing how to behave.

Thankfully Pike stepped in, drawing Michael's gaze. "Admiral Cornwell will be sitting in on the red angel briefing. To gauge the spirit of our interdivisional cooperation." That held a hint of mockery, presumably a continuation of the argument she'd walked into. 

"And get an update on the red angel, but what could that possibly matter?" Cornwell returned, focus back on Pike. 

"Last I checked, you can read. I submit daily reports. You're babysitting," Pike said, folding his arms across his chest, expression daring her to deny it. 

"Well, you and Leland have been acting like babies." Before Pike could protest again, Cornwell raised a cutting eyebrow at him. "Did you even consider that I might be here to keep an eye on Tyler?"

Pike subsided, something like relief flickering through his expression before he settled on wariness. "If you don't trust him..."

"Sometimes we have to work with people we doubt, for we are not children and life is not black and white." She sighed. "I'm not questioning your integrity, Chris. I would never do that."

The last trace of his indignation drained away. "Sorry," he said, a personal note to it, like he had a history of apologizing to Cornwell. "In my defense, you could have led with that."

"Don't question my decisions, flyboy," she shot back, the tone of it saying _apology accepted_. 

Michael blinked at the easy acceptance, affectionate and chiding at once, clearly borne of a long history. A more complicated history than Michael had imagined, one that still made her want to squirm, even though she knew that was childish. Of course Pike had a past; so did she. Her mind flashed back to the conversation at lunch, the others commenting on his sexual history, even as it made her wildly uncomfortable; apparently it was the day for it. 

Behind her, the ready room doors opened and the others walked in for the briefing. Saru looked over the assembled group as they all gathered around the table. Michael was certain he had clocked the mood in the room, but he moved smoothly past it, professional and above the fray. "Shall we get started?"

"Take it away, Commander," Cornwell said, matching his tone. 

***

Somehow, Michael and Pike ended up the last ones in the ready room, Michael swiping out of the display windows methodically, not wanting to leave any classified information up. When she moved to leave, the others had gone, only Pike left, nodding to her as he stepped toward the turbolift, gesturing her to go before him. 

Michael said nothing as they both got on, Pike indicating the bridge as their destination. It remained quiet for a moment, almost peaceful. 

Then Pike broke it: "You can ask," he said, knowing. 

"Ask?" Michael parroted. 

A smile flickered over his face. "Whatever was bugging you all meeting."

"I don't—"

"It's okay, Michael," he said, holding her gaze. Something in the look made her believe it was true. 

"You and the admiral..." she trailed off, not sure quite how to phrase it, discomfort still sitting heavy in her gut. 

Pike smiled wider, getting it. "Me and the admiral," he agreed. 

"You were...together?" she guessed, not wanting to know...but _needing_ to know. 

Pike made an approximate gesture. "We had a thing. A long time ago."

The confirmation zinged through Michael, sending her blood heating, though she didn't know exactly why. Maybe it was because they were talking about his sex life. Maybe it was something more.

"Were you her subordinate?" she asked, giving in to her curiosity. 

"I was," he said easily, like it was of no consequence. 

But how could it possibly be of no consequence? Michael blinked, trying to understand. "How—how did you manage that?"

Pike tilted his head, like that question interested him. "It's not a problem so long as you're aware of the dynamic." His look sharpened. "Why?"

Michael shook her head a little. "It's important to keep things appropriate." Her voice sounded stiff, even to her. She didn't need Pike looking into her motives, into her _interest_. She was already far too transparent to those around her, as the day had proven.

"It is," Pike agreed, eyes still on her. "And that's not an answer."

Michael swallowed, caught out, realizing she didn't _have_ an answer. At least, not one she could offer him. There was no reason she should be concerned about having appropriate relationships within a superior-subordinate dynamic. 

No reason at all.

Before she had to stammer through some excuse, the turbolift slowed, opening on the bridge. Michael just nodded to Pike and stepped out, focusing her mind on work. 

Work, she could do. 

***

Michael joined Tilly for dinner after their shifts ended, the mess hall only half full, the mood still relaxed. The only pressing business was ship repairs from the mycelial network and Michael could feel that in the crew's general behavior. Their 'vibe,' Tilly would probably say. 

Tilly happily dropped into a chair at one of the little white tables, shoving her wild curls back and looking with relish at her chicken pot pie. "I'm serious, Michael, you have to try this. It's, like, a human tradition."

Michael smiled as she took her own seat, shaking her head. "It's too heavy."

"Okay, first off, you're wrong. Second, _you're wrong_. The chicken pot pie is a _staple_. I'm telling you, I'm right about this—" 

Before she could go on, Specialist Larani stopped by the table, her long dark hair secured in her usual ponytail, blue eyes striking. Michael looked up at her curiously—

"Ruby! Sit down and tell Michael that chicken pot pies are righteous," Tilly said brightly.

Larani's expression went amused as she took a seat and looked to Michael. "Beyond," she said, apparently...agreeing? Michael suspected so, but before she could check Larani had looked back to Tilly, flicking her ponytail over her shoulder. "Update for you."

Tilly leaned forward. "Do tell."

"Keels went for it with Pike," Larani said...and Michael blinked. Did that mean what she thought it meant? 

Tilly went curious. "How'd she play it?"

"She did the demure thing since brash was a no-go for Stace. Still a bust." Larani shook her head, seemingly puzzled. "What dude is this resistant to getting his dick wet, honestly."

Tilly _hmmed_ like this was a data point she was incorporating into an analysis. Michael stared at her, incredulous. "Tilly. Please tell me you're not running some kind of...dating experiment on the captain." 

"It's an observational sex study, Michael, you can say the big-girl words," Tilly said, like that was at all appropriate to drop into conversation—or _do_ —at any time, _ever_. 

" _Tilly_."

"Not that there's much observation going on," Larani deadpanned, stealing a bite of Tilly's crust. 

Tilly flashed a grin at her. "Tell Keeley we thank her for her service."

Larani saluted broadly and retreated, hips swaying as she headed off to her life of...organizing people hitting on captains, apparently. Part of Michael's mind noted several male crew members turning to watch her walk out, but the rest was furiously analyzing what Tilly had just revealed. Michael stared at her, demanding an explanation without even needing to use the words. 

"It's for you," Tilly explained.

Michael stiffened as ice shot through her. "For _me_?"

"Duh. We're A/B testing propositions. It'll optimize your approach."

" _My_ approach," she said, a little faint. "Tilly, there _is_ no approach."

"Not yet. I'm still gathering data," she said, like it was _advice_. 

Michael continued to stare at the utter shamelessness, horrified at the idea that _she_ might have in any way motivated this. "You can't run an experiment on the captain."

"Sure I can," Tilly said, entirely unrepentant. "But I already told you, it's an observational study. Not as accurate as a true experiment, but we can't exactly try different passes by the same people, so this will have to do." She considered it. "Maybe if I had realistic enough holograms..."

" _Tilly_ ," Michael protested, tone emphasizing how deeply wrong this was. 

"You keep saying my name like it's going to dissuade me. Have we met?" Tilly asked, shooting a grin at her.

"You can't just go recruiting people to—" Michael flailed, not sure how to say it.

Tilly watched her keenly, like this was thoroughly entertaining. "Searching for a phrase there, Michael? I've got a few. Proposition. Hit on. Invite to play hide the sausage—"

Michael held up a hand before Tilly went any further into the aggressive human slang that always appalled her. "You're sending people under false pretenses—"

"Right, because you're offended by the _deception_ ," she said with a laugh, one that said they both knew that wasn't true. "Besides, I'm not sending anyone to do anything. I've simply let it be known that should anyone hit on the captain, I need to be copied on those results."

Michael shook her head at Tilly, still not fully believing it. "And people are reporting this to you?"

"They know what's good for them," Tilly said with a _tsk_. Then she went serious, save for her dancing blue eyes: "You can ask."

Michael set her jaw. "I can't imagine what you mean. I'm horrified."

"And desperately curious. But no need to worry, Pike isn't seeing anyone. Point of fact, that man is tighter than a Vestal virgin in her prime. Nhan assures me he's had sex, not that you'd know it from current behavior."

Michael's mind instantly flashed back to Cornwell wanting to put his mouth to better use, unable to help the way heat coiled through her at the thought. 

Tilly's eyes widened at her pause, seeming to read it. "Oh, my god, you know something," she said, delighted. "Tell me now."

"It's no one's business," Michael said, tone shutting her down. 

"You know something and you're _scandalized_ ," Tilly said brightly, like she was reading the information from Michael's skin. 

Michael just wished she weren't so good at it. 

Before she could refute that, Owo and Detmer arrived with their trays. As they took their seats, Owo looked at Michael with concern. "Are you all right?"

"No, she's breaking the rules," Tilly said pointedly.

Detmer looked to Michael in sympathy. "You might as well spill. She'll just pester it out of you," she advised. Apparently everyone knew what _the rules_ were without needing explanation. 

"What are you discussing, anyway?" Owo asked. 

"Pike's dick," Tilly said, blunt. 

"The topic of the day," Detmer joked. Then she looked at Michael, calculating. "What, you got some firsthand knowledge between lunch and dinner? That's impressive."

"No!" Michael said instantly, heat flaring under her skin. "This is not...appropriate."

Tilly turned to Owo and Detmer, going into analytical mode. "Okay, let's science this. Clearly something changed between lunch and now. You guys were on the bridge with her. Anything happen there?"

"Nothing of note," Owo said, thoughtful.

"It must've been something from the red angel update meeting. That's the only time we weren't with her," Detmer offered. 

Michael glared at them, frustrated that Tilly wouldn't just drop this. "I'm sitting right here."

"Feel free to join in any time," Tilly said, breezy. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Who else was in the meeting?"

"Pike, Cornwell, Saru, Nhan, Tyler," Owo listed. 

Detmer straightened. "Michael left early to join it, though." She looked to Owo. "Remember? She was the first to go. Pike was already meeting with Cornwell in his ready room." 

Tilly considered that. "So Michael walks in to find Pike and Cornwell—" her eyes went wide as she turned to Michael. "Wait, is Pike sleeping with Cornwell?"

"No," Michel said firmly...but even she could hear the waver at the end of her voice, unintentional though it was. 

Tilly studied her. "Not _now_ ," she guessed. 

Michael said nothing, but Tilly could still seem to read it off her. "Wow, Pike and Cornwell had a thing back in the day?"

Owo and Detmer exchanged looks. "Hot," Detmer concluded. 

Michael blinked, taken aback by the casual evaluation. She still could not _fathom_ why people thought it acceptable to gossip about others' sex lives.

"Perhaps it was it when they served together on the _Antares_ ," Owo theorized. Michael looked at her in surprise, but Owo defended herself. "What? Pike directed us to his service record."

Michael couldn't exactly argue, even as the continued discussion made her want to squirm away. Thinking about Pike and Cornwell _together_...

She shut that down. 

"Oh, look, there's the admiral now," Tilly said, brightening. "Let's ask."

" _Ask_ —Tilly," Michael protested, but Tilly was already ambling over to the little table where Cornwell had just taken a seat, starting on her salad. Michael followed her, determined to limit the potential damage. For no other reason, she firmly insisted to herself. 

"Can we join you?" Tilly asked brightly, sitting even before Cornwell answered. 

Cornwell shot her a dry look. "By all means."

"Great. Stop hovering, Michael, come on," Tilly said, flickering her eyes up pointedly.

Michael startled, realizing she _was_ hovering. She quickly sat, clasping her hands in front of her.

Tilly studied Cornwell keenly. "So you and Pike, huh? What was that like?"

Cornwell raised a single eyebrow at her, thoroughly unruffled. She flicked blue eyes to Michael, making her heart _pulse_. "Nice catch." Then Cornwell calmly looked back to Tilly. "It was a lot. As you may have gathered, Chris tends to throw his whole self into things. No half-measures."

"Oh, my god, tell us everything," Tilly gushed, delighted at the opening. 

"Tilly," Michael scolded, heat simmering under her skin at the way Cornwell had looked at her, like she _knew_ something. 

"I hardly think that would be appropriate, Ensign," Cornwell agreed. 

"Bunch of killjoys, all of you," Tilly grumbled. 

"Any particular reason for the curiosity?" Cornwell asked, the question seemingly directed at Tilly if not for the way she was looking at _Michael_. 

Michael shifted, uncomfortable. What? She wasn't the one asking...

"I insist on knowing all the things," Tilly said, matter-of-fact. Which, to be fair, was true. 

Cornwell blinked at her. "That doesn't seem possible."

"Not when people are holding out on me, that's for sure."

"We'll let you get to your dinner," Michael said firmly, taking hold of Tilly's arm and shooting her a meaningful look. 

"Fine, fine. But for the record, you and Pike? Hot. We all agree."

Before Cornwell could respond, Michael pulled Tilly up and started backing away, determined not to let her embarrassment show. "Enjoy your night, Admiral."

***

Tilly remained thoroughly unrepentant all night, so Michael appreciated the alone time she got at breakfast the next morning, Tilly off to engineering for more of Stamets' tests. She took another bite of her egg-white omelet, mind once again returning to Cornwell's _look_. It bothered her. Michael hadn't been asking deeply intrusive personal questions, she'd been trying to make things more appropriate, and yet it felt like Cornwell was directing some kind of accusation at her. 

Worse, a little niggling voice kept insisting that Cornwell's suspicions were _right_. Apparently Michael was failing at hiding her feelings all over the place. The thought was...deeply unsettling.

"Morning."

Michael's head snapped up—

To find Pike standing before her, cup of coffee in hand. "Can I join you?" he asked, bright-eyed and rested. She usually only saw him on the bridge in the mornings, or maybe his ready room if they had an early briefing. This Pike seemed a little more laidback, a little more open. Something about it felt dangerously familiar, even if they were in uniform and in public. 

Not that they would be anything other than in uniform together or in public together. Because they were _colleagues_ , nothing more, she reminded herself. 

"Captain," she finally said, hearing the surprise in it. "I mean, yes, of course."

Pike sat opposite her with a little smile, Michael unable to help but take him in. He really was distractingly good-looking. She tried not to dwell on it, generally, this attraction that made her skin buzz, but when he was sitting right in front of her, blue eyes focused wholly on her, she couldn't seem to help it. 

She just hoped he couldn't read it off her. 

He took a sip of his coffee and looked at her, curious. "You seemed deep in thought."

Sudden heat swept through Michael as she realized what she'd been thinking about: Cornwell and, by extension, him. She couldn't _believe_ she'd lost such focus that she didn't notice him enter. 

"Nothing urgent," Michael said. Technically, it was even true. 

Pike nodded and sipped his coffee again, contemplative. Finally, he took a breath. "Since you've been with the _Discovery_ for a while, but are still a relative newcomer, I'd love your counsel on something."

"Of course, Captain," Michael said, welcoming the professional topic. 

"Is it me or is this crew very keen on socializing?" Pike asked, mild. 

Michael blinked, realizing what he meant, that this was not about the professional at all. Her pulse picked up as she tried to imagine how she was going to navigate a conversation with Pike about personal matters. "...I'm sorry?" she finally managed. 

Pike shot her a look, like he knew she was delaying and was playing along anyway. "I've had quite a few offers of company." 

"That must be—" Michael broke off, realizing she couldn't say _hard_. "—a tricky line to walk," she finally finished. 

"It can be. Have you found this crew to be particularly forward?" he asked, seeming like he really wanted to know. 

"Not with me, but then, I arrived in a very different situation. And the captain is far more visible." Michael paused, but she couldn't help her curiosity. "How forward are we talking?"

Pike tilted his head. "Surprisingly aggressive," he said, still mild.

Michael shook her head, marveling a little at the thought. Hitting on the captain. "How do those conversations even go?"

A smile flitted across his face. "Oh, the usual, you know."

Michael _didn't_ know. That was the whole problem. 

"But what do they say?" she tried again, using a different angle.

Pike took her in for a beat, measuring, before crooking that half-smile again. "Sometimes the old standbys. 'I'd like to get to know you better.' Quite a few imply I must be bored and looking for some wider variety after my five-year mission. One memorable specialist asked for my stance on knocking boots." The sparkle in his eyes deepened, like even the thought amused him. 

Michael flushed, imagining it, some bright young thing approaching him with such openness. While part of her was mortified, another part was a little envious. "To be that bold," she muttered. 

"Shamelessness works for some people."

"But not with you," she pointed out. 

"I'm old-fashioned. It's odd, though. Sometimes it feels almost...strategic," he mused, studying her like he was asking something else entirely. 

Michael kept her face neutral, betraying no awareness of Tilly's study or the gossip about his love life. "You'd be a better judge of that than I would, I suspect."

That seemed to interest him. "Really?" he asked, voice prompting. 

She flushed a bit, realizing that now _she_ was discussing _her_ love life. How had this happened? She ignored the part of her noting how at ease he made her feel, how she just opened up whenever the opportunity arose. How much she _wanted_. 

Michael cleared her throat. "When I was on the _Shenzhou_ , it seemed like people wanted things from me for...not for the right reasons. Sometimes I didn't see that right away," she admitted, heart fluttering at the way he watched her. 

"I'm sorry. I bet that was confusing for you," he murmured, compassion slipping into his eyes. 

Something _pulsed_ in Michael, some kind of relief that someone else _got it_. "It was." She swallowed, remembering her younger self, overwhelmed by the human culture that felt so alien, all the focused interest she didn't understand. She was used to being a curiosity—the human amidst the Vulcans—but this was different, no longer just rivals wanting to best her. This was more...personal. 

"Robert once told me—Captain April, that is—that the higher you go, the higher standard you must adopt. Because people lose their wits," he said, affecting an English accent. 

Michael smiled a little. "That seems wise. I take it that means you won't be entertaining any of those offers?" She shouldn't be asking about his sex life...but part of her was desperate to know. 

Pike shot her an unimpressed look. "The twentysomethings can find their fun among themselves." Then he softened. "I'm only interested in something real."

Michael had _no idea_ what to say to that. 

Pike quirked a smile at her and nodded in appreciation. "Well, thanks for the talk. Commander." And just like that, he stood and headed out. 

Michael watched him the whole way. 

***

"Did his voice get all low and gravelly? I bet it did. God, that's hot," Tilly said, sitting on her bed and pulling her hair into a bun for sleep. 

"Tilly," Michael chided, as she was doing so often these days. 

Tilly rolled her eyes. "It's okay, Michael. Marvel at the hotness of someone you want to bang. You won't get sent to the principal's office."

Michael made a face at the crude language. "Why do you always bring it back to sex?"

"Because you dismiss it as if it's not a valid lifestyle choice." Tilly widened her eyes exaggeratedly. "You can want sex, Michael, it doesn't make you dirty."

Michael stiffened. "I never said it did."

"Kinda feels like it, though, what with all the downplaying you do," Tilly said with a shrug, not judgmental, just...aware. 

Michael swallowed. "That's not why."

"You sure? Because part of me thinks if you spent more time considering it, you'd take more active steps to get what you want."

Michael flushed at the idea of...considering it. Just seeing Pike was enough to heat her blood, curl interest low in her belly. She didn't need to imagine them together, what it would be like. "That's just tormenting myself," she muttered. 

"Or it's envisioning the future you want and making it happen," Tilly said, bright, like some motivational speaker. 

Michael smiled a little at her, a kind of wistfulness taking over. "Sometimes I wish I were like you."

Tilly laughed a little, not understanding. "What? Like me?" 

"Yes. So...open. I wish I knew how to just go up to people and engage them. How to get along so easily."

"I mean, I rock, but you're great, too. Everyone can just be themselves and that's super cool," Tilly said, matter-of-fact. "And look, it's not like you've never done this before. I know everything with Tyler was weird, but there were those three guys on the _Shenzhou_."

Michael blinked. She'd never gotten into specifics about her past relationships, such as they were. "How do you know about that?" she asked, discomfort sliding down her spine. She really needed to stop underestimating Tilly's communication network. 

Tilly waved an airy hand. "Totally irrelevant. My point is, it's not like you're inexperienced. You're just psyching yourself out."

Michael shook her head. "They pursued me," she said, quiet. "And I probably shouldn't have—none of those encounters were particularly satisfying. I'm not keen to repeat the experience. But it doesn't matter; it was a different situation."

Tilly's nod couldn't be more sympathetic. "New Starfleet flyboys are the worst, right? The Academy really needs to add some sex coursework." Then she paused to consider. "Look, I know I'm pushing and if you really hate it, I'll stop, but I just want you to be happy. So, like, what do _you_ want? Really truly, if you could wave a magic wand."

Michael considered, thinking of how he made her feel when he held her eyes, when all his focus was on her. "I just—I want him to look at me. Like I'm something special."

Tilly nodded obviously. "He already does that. What else?"

"I want him to pay attention to me. I want the jokes and smiles. I want to be close. I want to know what he thinks. And yeah, I want him in bed, but that's not more important than any of the other things."

"You want a relationship," Tilly summarized, matter-of-fact.

Michael shrugged. "Just like everyone else."

Tilly blinked at her. "I mean, not really."

Michael didn't understand. "I don't understand. Isn't that all the drama that I try to ignore? Relationships?"

"Sex, Michael. You ignore all the sex. People just having a good time." Tilly's vaguely scandalous hand gesture made Michael flush. 

She looked away. "There are people in relationships."

"Sure, some. But a lot of people are only in it for the short-term and that's okay. Hell, it's good to know exactly where you stand on that spectrum, actually."

"Pike said he wants something real," Michael said, soft, remembering the look in his eyes, how it made her feel, how she had no clue what to say in response. 

Tilly nodded once. "Yeah, makes sense. That would be the flaw in my observational study. Everyone just wants to go three rounds in the bedroom with him. It doesn't matter how they'd ask, he's not into it."

"I don't want that," Michael said. Tilly shot her an incredulous look, so she corrected: "I don't want only that."

"Okay, so you want a relationship, he wants a relationship, the stars are aligning here. We can work with this. Now all you have to do is get it."

Michael looked at her, long-suffering. "Oh, just that."

"I stand by my assertion that you're psyching yourself out. So he's the captain? Whatever. Just go tell him what you told me."

Michael reared back at the idea. "You want me to go up to him and—and—spew out my feelings?"

"I mean, I would describe it differently, but basically." Tilly nodded, like this was no big deal. 

How did she not see the deal? "I don't...do that."

Tilly tilted her head. "My wing-woman offer is still good. I can do it."

Michael blinked as that even more horrible option played out in her mind. " _You_ want to tell Pike that I want him?"

"Stop looking at me like that. Intermediaries have a long history in helping relationships along. I could totally make this happen."

"No," Michael said quickly. Then she softened, made it more genuine: "Thank you, Tilly, but I don't think that's a good idea."

Tilly frowned at her. "Okay, but you're not gonna get what you want by doing nothing. The way I see it, you only have two choices: take the risk and tell him or suffer the not-knowing every day for the rest of your life until you die."

Michael shot her a look. "Gee, I wonder which option you'd prefer."

"You know I'm right," Tilly sing-songed, lying back in her bed. 

Michael turned over in her own bed as Tilly called for the lights. The problem was...she was right. And Michael still had no idea how she could possibly go to Pike about any of it. 

***

Michael sipped her tea in the nearly-empty mess hall, the hour too early for most. She reviewed the latest red angel theories on her PADD, wanting to be fully current for their early briefing. The Section 31 files Leland had sent over weren't as helpful as she'd hoped, but she kept going over them just in case there was a subtle clue she might pick up. She couldn't _miss_ anything. 

The sound of the mess hall doors made her glance up—

To find Ash looking back. He was part of the meeting, too. He could have guessed she'd be here at this hour. 

This was purposeful. 

He approached and looked questioningly at a seat. Michael nodded, even if part of her was reluctant. To deny him would be rude and while her feelings for him were not what they once were, she didn't actively want to hurt him. 

Ash sighed as he sank into the chair. "Gotta love the early briefings."

"Captain Pike likes to get a jump on the day."

"...yeah," he said, something heavy in it. Then he took a breath, brown eyes meeting hers with some kind of emotion in them. "So, Pike, huh?"

Surprise swept through Michael, quickly followed by frustration. Tilly had called this. And Michael sincerely resented that she was so easily read. "What do you mean?" she hedged.

Ash shot her an unimpressed look. "Please. I see how you watch him." He swallowed, shaking his head a little. "It's how you used to watch me." 

Michael winced at the reminder, feeling the ache in her heart where he used to be. But no, he _chose_ to remove himself. She needed to remember that. 

"I don't see how that's relevant to...anything," she said, stiff.

"Come on, don't be like that."

Michael couldn't help the irritation that spiked through her. "Don't be like what? Don't be private? Is this what we do now, Ash? We talk about our relationships? Should we talk about L'Rell next? Want to tell me all about how you mended your broken heart in her bed?"

Ash's jaw clenched and he looked away for a moment. Michael ached for the self-hatred she could see in his expression. Despite that he had hurt her, she didn't want him to live in torment. 

Finally, he shook himself and met her eyes again. "Yeah, that's fair." He smiled a little, still pained. "I don't expect us to be those people. I'm not that elevated, I can admit that. But I also have eyes. I see you struggling with it. And I can't help but think maybe—maybe that's my fault. So I'm here to say...don't let what I did to you keep you from happiness." 

Michael's heart thudded irregularly. "...what?"

"Look, I know the war was just one horror after another, in new and creative ways. And I know I was part of that. Maybe the worst part. I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for hurting you. But you were kind to me, after, when you had every right to say fuck off forever. You're a good person, Michael. Reach for the love you deserve."

Michael stared at him, hardly able to process it. This was not where she expected the conversation to go, Ash somehow picking up on something she hadn't even let herself feel. And now that he'd said it, it seemed so clear. 

She was scared. She had covered with logistics—the _how_ —but fundamentally she was scared of opening herself up, but even more than that, she was scared of what would happen when she did. 

"I had one real relationship and I fell for a Klingon spy," she said, feeling the sting in her eyes, tears threatening. "How can I possibly risk that pain again?"

"Because it's worth it," Ash insisted. "I promise you, it's worth it." He held her eyes, everything in Michael saying that he _believed_ this. 

Michael felt a tear slip down her cheek. "...I don't know what to do," she finally managed. 

"So ask. Figure it out. You're the smartest person I know. Don't let something you want slip away. You might not get another chance," he said, vehement. 

With one more intense look, he nodded to her in farewell and stood, striding for the door. 

All Michael could do was stare at her tea, feeling more tears fall, her denial a shambles in the face of this truth. 

***

Pike clocked something when she walked into the ready room, his eyes meeting Michael's and staying there, gaze almost questioning. Michael had checked to make sure her eyes weren't puffy or red, that nothing of her emotional storm showed. But Pike still seemed to read it. 

Her inability to keep up a front was really starting to get old. 

So Michael just shook her head at Pike, ever so slight. He got it immediately, expression darkening a little in a way that said he didn't like it...but he nodded back, letting it go. 

Only once she took her seat did Michael realize they'd had an entire conversation without words. Effortless.

***

Michael pressed the chime at the VIP quarters, fluttering in her stomach and cold sweat dripping down her spine. But she was a Starfleet officer; she could face _feelings_. 

She _could_. 

All morning she'd thought about what Tyler said, about the realization that she'd let her fear color things. And she'd come to a decision: she wasn't that person. She refused to let fear control her life. So here she was, seeking out the admiral, determined to resolve it. However it turned out. 

After a moment, the door opened, allowing her entrance. She stepped into the expansive suite, spotting Cornwell behind the imposing desk in the corner, two golden lamps on either side of her. The room was large—a couch and chairs in a sitting area off to the side, two dark gray armchairs in front of her desk matching the gray tones of the walls, the doors to the bedroom just beyond the desk. All the screens were lit up with the Starfleet logo, the large bay windows looking out into the black of space. Cool and official. 

And Michael was here to talk about _feelings_. She internally kicked herself. It was wildly inappropriate, but she was already here, what was she supposed to say?

Cornwell seemed to read her, lips curling at the corners. "I wondered how long it would take you to come see me."

Michael let out a breath, relief sweeping through her, along with that now-familiar irritation. "Am I really that transparent?" she couldn't help but ask.

"To a psychiatrist? Yes," Cornwell said, blunt as she always was. Then she leaned back, almost casual: "To the average person, finding out their captain had an affair with an admiral would be an interesting fact, maybe a delightful source of gossip. You looked _stricken_."

A horrible thought occurred to Michael. "I wasn't—I don't hold any animosity for—" 

Cornwell stopped her with a raised hand. "I'm not suggesting any such thing. But the reaction told me there are feelings there, so this is not a surprise. It did take you a bit longer than I expected, though."

Michael shifted. "Yes, well, I had some...things to consider."

"Ginning up the courage?" Cornwell guessed, eyes kind. 

"Something like that."

Cornwell gestured her into one of the armchairs with a, "Please."

Michael sat, back ramrod straight, deciding she might as well just get into it. They both knew what this was about. "I've always tried to keep my relationships appropriate. I thought it important as the Shenzhou's First Officer not to give the appearance of favoritism or bias," she explained, Cornwell nodding the point. "The captain said that you were his superior at the time and I suppose I wondered...how you two, uh, found yourselves together, given the disparity in rank."

Cornwell smirked. "We got plastered on Andorian rum one night and jumped each other," she said frankly. "To this day we disagree on exactly who jumped who."

"That's...not particularly relevant to current circumstances," Michael said, trying not to picture that, the two of them young and drunk and all over each other. 

"No, he hasn't been jumping anyone of late. Or drinking all that much, from what Boyce tells me," Cornwell acknowledged. She regarded Michael for a moment and then sighed. "I've known Chris for almost twenty-five years, from cadet to captain. When he became Robert's XO, he stepped back from socializing. He's always held to a pretty rigid code of conduct, but entering leadership exacerbated it."

"A higher standard," Michael murmured, remembering his words. 

She nodded. "Then two years ago he withdrew entirely. I've been trying to nudge him out of his funk ever since. Frankly, you're the first crack in it I've seen." Michael's heart _thumped_ , hope lighting her up at the implication, that Pike might have some sort of affections for her. 

Cornwell pinned her with a look. "That said, if you're waiting for him to make a move, he won't."

Michael felt the disappointment of that, realizing after the fact that she'd been harboring some secret hope he might make it easy on her. 

Cornwell seemed to read it. "Sorry. If you want to pursue the relationship, you're going to have to be the one to raise it."

Michael took a breath, trying to calm her pounding heart. "Hypothetically, how would I go about...doing that?" she asked, hating the churning indecision within her. 

Cornwell softened. "Growing up on Vulcan and then getting thrown onto a ship must have been very hard."

Michael swallowed against her suddenly-tight throat. "It was."

She nodded, then went brisk again. "Chris is straightforward. He appreciates the same. My advice? Just tell him."

***

Knowing that the more she delayed, the harder it would be, Michael approached his ready room that evening, when he'd likely be about done with his day, heart pounding and that sick feeling in her stomach, but her will firm. 

The doors opened to show Pike sitting behind his desk, again listening to the sphere data's historical records. He smiled in welcome when he spotted her and paused the computer's readout. "Burnham."

Michael walked in, nodding in greeting. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all. I'm just indulging my curiosity. It's about time for me to wrap it up, anyway." He looked at her, expectant, and Michael realized that now was the time. 

She took a breath, grounding herself. She could do this. "I realized you didn't give me an answer to my question in the turbolift," she said, ignoring the emotional context of that moment, focusing herself on the here and now. "And I thought I might ask you to clarify."

Pike's expression flickered, surprise melding with something assessing, overlaid with an inscrutable warmth. "Your question about how to manage a relationship as a subordinate?" 

Michael nodded, that cold heat churning in her gut once again. 

Pike stood, coming around his desk to lean back against it casually, regarding her. "The only people you're subordinate to are Saru and me."

Michael eyed him steadily, even as her heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest. "That's right."

Pike studied her for another moment, too many things slipping through his eyes for her to follow. Finally, he blew out a breath. "The key to making it work is that the superior needs to be aware of the dynamic and adjust for it. For example, by not initiating," he said, soft, almost like an explanation. 

She swallowed against the metallic bite of adrenaline. "But how do you gauge interest absent any such signaling?" 

"Bravery?" he tried. "It's not ideal, I acknowledge. But it requires having some faith."

Michael nodded. She had no faith to speak of, but bravery she could do. She stepped forward and placed her hand on top of his, resting on his desk. "You said you wanted something real."

Pike watched her with the softest eyes. "I did."

She took a breath. "Do I count?"

Pike flipped his hand and clasped hers, bringing it up to his lips, kissing her skin softly, heat moving from there straight to her chest. "Yes," he breathed against the back of her hand.

Michael stared at him, the desire overwhelming her. "I find myself very, um—"

She broke off as he leaned closer. But he stopped when she did, gaze trained on her, encouraging. "Very..." he prompted, affection in his eyes. 

"Cornwell said you throw yourself into things. No half-measures."

"Were you wanting to throw yourself into something, Michael?" he asked, a sensual lilt to it that made very inappropriate images careen through Michael's mind. 

Or maybe not so inappropriate, all things considered. 

"I want something real, too."

Pike stood up, _into_ her space, bringing their mouths together, his hand still holding hers. Michael made a soft noise into the kiss, his lips skilled. He kissed her lightly, once, then harder, wrapping his other arm around her and pulling her into his body. Michael gasped at the feel of solid muscle against her, desire pooling low, Pike sweeping his tongue into her now-open mouth.

After long, hazy moments he pulled back. "We can do that," he said against her mouth, arm still around her, the heat of him making her head a little fuzzy. 

"Good," she breathed, leaning up for another kiss. 

***

"Yes!" Tilly cheered, falling back on her bed. "Wait, what now? Commence banging?" she asked, sitting up with a hopeful air. 

" _Tilly_."

"What? You covered the bravery, now it's his turn to do the hard work," she said, letting the innuendo just drip. 

Michael flushed, shooting her a look. "You are beyond the pale."

"And also correct," she chirped, delighted with herself. "Seriously, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in his bed on your way to an orgasm right now? I mean, I know you love me, but come on. Take the orgasm."

Michael swallowed against the seductive heat of that image. It was a little heady to know that it wasn't just a fantasy; she could have that, now. "He had a dinner scheduled with the admiral," she said, trying to focus. "He said we could talk later."

"Later when?" Tilly pressed.

Michael blinked. "He wasn't really specific. We kissed, he told me to call him Chris, then he had to go."

"Ooh, _Chris_ ," she said, grinning. 

Michael shook her head, the name still sounding odd, though she was getting more comfortable with it. _Chris_. "That's what the admiral always calls him."

"So are you, like, together now?" Tilly asked, considering. 

"I don't know."

"But there will be sex?" Tilly clarified, like this was very important to clarify. 

Michael stilled. "Is it possible there won't be sex?" The thought had never even occurred to her. He said he wanted something real; that didn't exclude a physical relationship, did it?

Tilly tilted her head. "All I know is he's spent weeks turning down all manner of hot to trot specialists, so he might secretly be a monk." She took in Michael's expression, eyes widening. "Chill, I don't actually think he's a monk. Although, you know, you might wanna ask. Just to be sure."

Now that Tilly had brought it up, it was all she could think of. "Am I not supposed to want to sleep with him?" she asked, uncertain. This had literally never been an issue, but Chris was so low-key about everything, she couldn't say for sure. He'd certainly kissed her back, even if those kisses had been more exploratory than _do me now_. But they couldn't be; he was due at a dinner. 

Tilly made a stop motion. "You should _definitely_ want to sleep with him. That is pretty fundamental."

"But...am I supposed to ask for that? Or wait?" Michael had no idea what the normal rules were, but Chris also seemed to be working from a non-standard rulebook. Low level nerves started gathering in her gut, that familiar uncomfortable feeling of not knowing how to act. 

Tilly shrugged one shoulder. "Nah, I think you should tell him straight up."

Michael made a frustrated noise. "You always say that."

"Well, yes, I am consistent," Tilly deadpanned. 

"He said he doesn't initiate. Do I need to? How do I do that?" Michael had never hit on anyone for the purposes of sleeping with them. Guys had always made it very clear what they wanted from her, though they weren't necessarily as direct as Tilly was advising. Should she just...say it? She tried to imagine herself saying some variation of "let's have sex" and couldn't _fathom_ it. 

"Okay, first, breathe," Tilly said, taking a deep breath like Michael needed a model to follow. She let it out slowly. "I think you should just go over to his place and see what happens. Pike knows you want something real with him. And he wouldn't be engaging if he didn't want you, too. I'm sure he'll steer things."

Right. She'd just...go over and see what happened. 

***

Michael's pulse pounded as she pressed Pike's— _Chris'_ —door chime, want making her body sing. She could feel sweat at the small of her back, but she ignored it. That was probably just the anticipation. 

The doors opened, Chris standing _right there_ , wearing sleepwear—a light shirt and loose pants, nothing that should be erotic and yet all Michael wanted was to rip them off, lust suddenly blinding. "Michael," he greeted, a touch of surprise in his voice. 

"I'm here to have sex with you," Michael said, mouth disconnecting from her brain. 

Chris blinked. "Are you," he said, even. 

"Obviously, I don't want just the sex. But I want the sex, too. So if you don't want that, you should send me away." She swallowed, desperate for him not to send her away.

Chris stepped back, gesturing her in. 

Relief swept through Michael as she entered, followed by that hot-cold feeling she had come to associate with thoughts of Chris. He'd kissed her. He invited her in. He wanted her, too. Her head felt a little light as she turned to face him, half-giddy that that had worked. 

His expression didn't waver as she crowded in close, leaning up for his mouth, the kiss fiercer than their others, full of want. He tasted like the whisky he must have had at dinner. Michael wanted to kiss him until disappeared, until she could only taste him. 

Chris wrapped his arms around her slowly, slanting his lips over hers, all his movements measured. Not tentative, almost thoughtful. 

Michael pressed against him harder, reveling in the strength in his body, wanting to feel it everywhere, wanting skin against skin, _now_. 

Chris broke the kiss, stepping back. He smiled at her, soft, then nodded to the other side of the room. "Have a seat. The couch is surprisingly comfortable."

She stilled, confused by the sudden shift, but acquiesced, turning to take a seat at one of the long green couches, set up in an L-shape in the corner of the room, as Chris moved to his replicator. 

"Tea, jasmine, hot. Two cups," he ordered, Michael raising an eyebrow. They were having tea? 

The interruption gave her the chance to take in the room, far homier than the admiral's VIP quarters, surprising since the furniture was all standard Starfleet issue. She'd never been here, noting that he had a decent amount of space—small meal table overlooking the bay windows, sitting area, his desk just across, and the doorway that led to his darkened bedroom. He'd accented this room just like his ready room—southwestern pieces, throws, everything neutral and comforting. He clearly valued settling in. 

Michael watched as he brought two steaming cups over to the couch, handing her one as he sat beside her, pressing comfortingly close, radiating warmth. 

She leaned into his side and obligingly took a sip, the scent of jasmine curling around them. Then she looked at him. "I asked for sex and you sat me down and gave me tea."

Chris flashed an amused half-smile at her, almost considering. "I did, didn't I?"

Michael shifted against him, a reminder of the physical, but he didn't engage. 

He just took another sip, then pressed thoughtful fingers to her mouth. And despite what she'd otherwise come to associate that with, it didn't feel sexual at all. "I sat you down and gave you tea because you were saying one thing, but everything else was sending a different message."

She stilled, looking at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

He moved his hand away, gently cupping her elbow, a warm kind of support. "Well, you came here wanting sex, but you're in full uniform, thoroughly buttoned up. Your expression is more determined than anything. And when you kissed me, you were shaking. Somehow, I don't think it was because you were overwhelmed with lust," he said, dry. 

Michael blinked. She had...no idea. 

Chris continued on, thoughtful. "When I get two sets of messages, I tend to follow the more cautious one. Just in case. So, wanna tell me what's going on?"

"I do want sex," she insisted, eyes on his. 

He nodded, accepting, but making no move to do anything about it. 

"I'm bad at this," she continued, voice hitching a little. 

His hand moved from her elbow to curl around to her lower back, the weight of the arm slung across her comforting. "What are you bad at?" he murmured, no pressure at all, only compassion in his voice. 

Michael gestured between their bodies. "This. Relationships. Moving things along. I don't—we didn't do this on Vulcan."

Chris nodded again, like he knew that. "Spock has said."

"In my prior...relationships, I was always—men would make their intentions known. Clear."

His expression went rueful. "And here I am, hanging back. That must be very confusing."

"It is _very confusing_ ," she said, emphatic. "And I don't know what it is I should do to—to—I don't know how to be that person. Or if I should be. Because maybe that's not what I'm supposed to do? There are all these unwritten rules that everyone else somehow knows and I just—I don't like failing at things," she said, clipped.

Chris set his cup on the end table, nodding. "Okay. I understand now." He slowly leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her softly, but real. He tasted like the jasmine tea now, somehow soothing and arousing all at once. 

Michael gripped her mug, feeling the warmth tingling in her hand, but Chris pulled back from their kiss and smiled a little, taking the cup from her and setting it on the coffee table. Her eyes tracked the stretch of muscled shoulders under his thin shirt, transfixed; _how_ was that simple movement so arresting?

Chris looked over at her and caught it, something pleased settling around his eyes as he leaned back to her, stopping just short of kissing her again. He framed her face with his hands, blue eyes intense. "You're not failing, Michael. There is no 'supposed to' here. And I don't want you doing anything unless _you_ want it."

"I want _you_ ," she said, half-helpless, his scent buzzing through her, muddying her thoughts. 

"You've got me." His lips curled slightly and he leaned in, kissing her again, still so soft, but now with intent behind it. He tilted his head and kissed her, slow, Michael making a noise against his mouth as she settled herself against him. The heat of his body seeped into her, all bunched muscle unyielding, and she found her hands tangled in his shirt, gripping, trying to get more. 

Chris broke away from the kiss, lips red, eyes bright. "I'm not going anywhere, Michael," he said, reassuring, covering her hands with his and flexing them, a nudge. 

Michael let go, pressing her palms to him instead, feeling the beat of his heart under firm muscle. "You feel good," she said, just because it was true. 

He smiled, affection shining in his eyes. "So do you," he murmured, wrapping his arm around her again, shifting her closer. He tilted her head, this kiss more assured as they settled into it, Michael following his lead. She learned the shape of his mouth, nibbling at his bottom lip lightly, feeling it when he smiled. 

He used the arm wrapped around her to move her so that they were lying parallel on the couch, trading lazy kisses, warmth radiating from her mouth to the pit of her stomach to the heat pooling between her legs. Michael felt sweat beading at her lower back again, this time for a different reason entirely. She breathed out and reached shaky hands for her collar, undoing the button. 

Chris leaned away with that soft smile. "Okay there?"

"I'm too hot," she muttered, unzipping the jacket and stripping it off, leaving her in her tank top. 

"You certainly are," he said, innuendo coloring his tone, then amusement at the same. 

Michael looked at him askance. "Really?"

"When you set me up like that, I have to spike it," he said with a grin, leaning in again, pressing short kisses to her mouth. 

Michael's protest was muffled by the kisses. "That was not a spike." 

Chris pulled back with a laugh. "I'll make it up to you," he said, eyes dancing. He leaned down to kiss her again, the humor draining away as they got lost in each other.

He kissed from her mouth down her chin to her neck, the little nips there making Michael gasp. He didn't stop, moving down to lave at her collarbone, then pressing light kisses down the center of her chest until he hit her tank top...and kept going, kissing her through the material as he moved down her body. 

Michael groaned and shifted against him, unable to help the desire rolling through her at the sight. 

Chris laughed again as he pushed her tank up to kiss her stomach, his breath there making her shiver. His hands explored, stroking her legs through her clothes, all the way down to her shoes, which he tugged at. 

Mind blanketed in a fog of desire, it took Michael a second to realize that he was taking her shoes off and she should probably help with that. She tried to lean over to do so, but he looked up from her stomach, eyes gleaming. "I got it."

True to his word, he had both shoes off, followed by her socks, in quick order, all while he nibbled around her bellybutton like he found it absolutely fascinating. 

Michael ran a hand through his hair, gripping a little, shifting up against his mouth, trying to get more. "Chris," she said, pleading. 

He leaned away, hair disheveled and all the more enticing for it. "We'll get there," he said, teasing, hands moving to toy with the button on her uniform pants. 

Michael's fingers met his there, trying to help, but apparently he was serious about having it, catching her fingers and bringing them to his mouth for a kiss before brushing them aside. He expertly unfastened her pants, his clever fingers sending a burst of _want_ clear through her. 

What _else_ could he do with those hands?

He rolled the pants down her hips, pausing to let her shift up, before he continued down her legs, stripping them off and leaning in to nip at her bare legs, hands moving over all the skin revealed. It was sensual and languorous and Michael felt it _everywhere_. 

She tugged off her own tank top, leaving her in the plain black standard-issue bra and panties, but Chris' gleaming eyes as he took her in made them seem like the sexiest things he'd ever seen. Heat pooled in her cheeks, Michael not used to that kind of regard. 

Chris seemed to sense it, moving back up to kiss her, slow and hot. He pulled back after, staring into her eyes, his thumb running a maddening trail from her bellybutton down to the edge of her panties and back again. "You're beautiful," he said, voice a dark rumble.

She flushed more, tugging his shirt up. "You're overdressed."

He complied and pulled it off, settling down beside her, hair a mess, blue eyes serious. "You're still beautiful," he said, pressing the back of his hand to her cheek, like she was some kind of marvel. 

"Trying to sweet-talk me," she accused, light. 

"I only speak the truth." Then he leaned down and pressed their mouths together, the kiss deep and thorough, leaving her breathless. He followed with smaller kisses, fingers skating all over her body—over her thighs, up her side, along the softness of her underarm.

Michael lost herself to it, reveling in the brush of their tongues, his scent surrounding her, his weight over her. 

Eventually she took a breath and pulled away. "Enough." She pressed a hand into his—really very firm—chest, and nudged him back. 

Chris went, shifting up, eyes clearing a little. "Everything okay?"

"My turn," she said, throwing a leg over his thighs and sitting astride him. 

He grinned and leaned against the back of the couch. "Yes, ma'am." He spread his arms, displaying himself for her, an offer. There was something a little cocky in it that Michael couldn't help but be charmed by. 

She perched on his thighs and moved her hands over his chest and arms, down to his stomach, marveling at the solid muscle, at the fine dark hairs, interspersed with a few strands of gray. He had such a different body than other men she'd been with—she'd tended to find herself with lankier guys, for no reason she could discern—and she liked the coiled strength of him. She avoided the tempting bulge in his pants, saving that for later. No need to advance things too far too fast. 

One thing she didn't expect was the _feeling_ of his eyes on her, watching her touch him, arousal evident in the darkness of his eyes. She'd never felt that sort of power, never even dreamed she'd want to. But here, with him? It sent more of that heat pooling between her thighs, yearning. But Michael ignored that, too, fingers moving over his body, learning the shape of him. 

Chris jumped when she scratched over his side, the air of startlement making him somehow even more endearing. 

"You're ticklish?" she asked, delight sweeping through her, betrayed in her voice. 

He caught her hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing over the pads of her fingers. "You go there, there will be consequences."

Michael grinned and leaned down to kiss him properly. "Another time," she promised against his mouth before kissing him again, hands once again exploring, finding other places, places that made him gasp and press against her instinctively before he got control of himself. 

She reveled in how responsive he was, how unselfconscious, moving into her hands, tension coiling through him the more she explored. She scratched over a nipple and his hips actually bucked, "Michael, _please_ ," torn from his lips. 

It made her mouth go dry. _She_ did that. She made the great Captain Pike beg. 

Michael pulled away and sat up, conscious of his thighs shaking underneath her. "I want you to take me to bed now," she informed him seriously. Being direct was working for her so far. 

Chris blinked at her hazily, like it was taking him a moment to come back online, before he straightened and pulled her hips closer. "What?" she asked just as everything tilted, Chris standing and taking her with him. Michael automatically wrapped her legs around him. " _Chris_ ," she said, quelling, even as a small part of her _thrilled_ at the strength in him. 

"You asked for it," he said, unrepentant as he carried her into his bedroom. 

He laid her back on the bed, crawling up after her, kissing her again, their mouths clinging. His hands were firmer now, less teasing. He pulled out of their kiss to look at her, eyes glittering, just as he slid a hand into her panties, pressing against her slick folds. 

Michael cried out, liquid heat shooting through her as clever fingers found her clit and played over it, light. _Perfect_. 

Chris took her in for a moment, seemingly transfixed, touching her expertly. He leaned down to fuse their mouths together, Michael's hands gripping his shoulders against her will as she moaned into his mouth and rode his hand, feeling out of control of her own body. 

He kissed over to her earlobe, biting lightly, then whispering, "Turn over." It sent a shudder through her whole frame.

Michael swallowed and did, turning underneath Chris as he kissed from her ear down her neck and over to her back, his fingers still between her legs, touching her all the while. She moved against his hand, trying to get more, but his other hand stilled her hips. All Michael could do was pant and moan into the duvet as the pleasure wound her higher and higher. 

Chris took his time kissing down her spine, arm curved around her side so he could keep teasing her, too much sensation at once. "Chris, please," she panted into the duvet, slightly muffled, but she needed _something_. 

He _hmmed_ against her back, then moved his mouth down to the band of her bra. Michael felt it loosen around her, the surprise kicking her out of the haze of pleasure to realize—

"Did you just unhook my bra with your _teeth_?" she asked, faint and somehow more turned on, as if that were even possible. 

He _hmmed_ again as he nudged her over onto her back, something low and enticing in it. "That's what I was supposed to be doing, but then I got distracted," he said, running a lazy finger around her clit like an afterthought.

Michael whimpered and bucked against him, watching as he tossed her bra aside and leaned down to run his mouth over one breast, making a hungry noise that went straight to where his fingers still moved in her panties.

Everything about this was so unbearably hot Michael couldn't _think_. "I want you inside me," she panted, breathless and desperate, sure of that, at least.

Chris made an inquisitive noise as he trailed kisses to her other breast, sucking lightly at her nipple, the burst of sensation singing through her. 

"Chris," she said, her tone insistent.

He slowly drew himself back, his blue eyes mostly pupil and staring into hers as he pulled his hand from between her legs with one final ghost over her clit. Michael whimpered, but then he hooked his fingers around her panties and started tugging, _finally_. She helped him maneuver them off, then watched as he shoved his own pants away, crawling back onto the bed, his cock thick and full for her. 

Chris moved close, finding her mouth, the heat of his naked body against hers almost too much. "What do you want?" he asked between kisses, like he couldn't make himself stop. 

Michael kissed back, hands roaming over him as she rubbed herself against him, so far past turned on she didn't even have the words for it. She trailed light fingers down between his legs, feeling the shape of his cock, which leapt at her touch. 

Chris groaned into her mouth. "Michael," he said again, a ragged note to it. "How do you want me?"

The question penetrated the fog of lust, Michael's mind instinctively going back to the couch, to that sense of power. "Me on top," she murmured, biting at his mouth, making him moan, a little _zing_ of pleasure firing through her at the sound. 

"Yeah," he breathed. "C'mere." He sat up, drawing her with him as he settled back against the headboard, fingers nudging her to move on top of him. 

Michael's breath stuttered at the sight of him, laid out for her again, her body instinctively screaming _yes_. She followed his urging and kneed up his thighs, watching as he slowly stroked himself, fully hard and ready for her. Michael touched him there, too, tracing the thick vein on the underside of his cock, Chris making a desperate sound, low in the back of his throat. 

"Okay, okay," Chris panted. He gritted his teeth and moved his hand between her legs, pressing against her, feeling how wet she was. He hissed between his teeth. 

"Want you," she said, bearing down on his fingers, feeling them slip into her. She was so turned on there was no resistance. 

"Fuck," he bit out, pulling his fingers out of her, his own hands shaking as he positioned himself at her entrance, eyes lifting to hers—

Michael pressed herself down onto him, a helplessly satisfied noise slipping out as he filled her, the pleasure of it screaming up her spine. It buzzed through her, freezing her in place as she seated herself and took a breath to adjust to the feeling. It was like all the blood was pulsing in her body at once, in time to her pounding heart, lightning tingling along every nerve ending. She was so _full_. 

Chris groaned and gripped her hips, clearly struggling not to move, his chest heaving, sweat beading between them. 

Michael rested her hands there, feeling his heart beat, his chest moving up and down. Something about it clicked in her brain, a different kind of satisfaction in it, and she levered herself up and then down again, both of them crying out at the feeling. 

The slow pace Chris had set all night was history as Michael shoved herself onto him, Chris levering her back up, the wet slap of skin on skin a counterpoint to their sharp breaths and helpless moans. Michael adjusted the angle until she found one that lit her up every time, the tingling spreading everywhere, from her lips to the balls of her feet and all points in between.

Michael felt his eyes tracing over her bouncing breasts down to where he disappeared inside her, the look igniting something clawing inside her, that sense of power underlining it. He got off on seeing her like this, taking what she wanted from him. Her body fluttered around his cock as her orgasm built like a gathering storm. "I'm close," she gasped, dropping her head back, luxuriating in the feel of him inside her. 

His fingers between her legs snapped her head up, Michael gasping as tiny dots appeared in her vision, the pleasure bright and hot. He touched her until it exploded, rushing under her skin, flowing through her in a wave that sucked her under, over and over again, ecstasy almost too much.

Her rhythm stuttered as she lost herself to it, Chris's answering groan sounding loud in the silence. His body shook as he came, cock pulsing inside her. 

After, Michael slumped onto him, her mouth resting on his shoulder as she panted, sweating, shaking. Or maybe he was shaking; she couldn't tell, the two of them so close the distinction was impossible to decipher with the few brain cells she currently had functioning. A few long moments catching her breath and Michael looked over at him—

To find him staring, hair sweaty and tousled, eyes wide like he'd seen something miraculous. He pressed his mouth to hers, one of those soft kisses that grounded her and stole her mind in equal measure. Michael kissed him back, arms looping around him, the two of them trading the kind of lazy, intimate kisses that she'd never shared with anyone but now couldn't imagine her life without. 

Still kissing, Chris tipped them over, sliding out of her with a sigh, then curling around her like he couldn't bear to let go. 

Michael shifted against him, settling in, their legs tangled together, hands touching in the small well of space between them. Chris ran his thumb over her palm, soothing and still somehow erotic. 

They stayed like that for an indeterminate amount of time, just breathing, Michael reveling in the lazy satisfaction curling through her body, the aftershocks of pleasure that only came with really good sex. She hadn't felt this much. 

She looked forward to feeling it _more_. 

Her mind wandered, thinking about the past few days—

She breathed out a small laugh and turned to look at Chris, watching as he propped his head on his hands and regarded her, fond. "What?" he asked, voice gravelly. 

"I can't _believe_ you came to me about all the people propositioning you."

He quirked a half-smile at her. "I handed you an opening on a silver platter and instead of taking it you asked me about _logistics_."

"I was struggling with the logistics."

"Well, yes, I realize that _now_ ," he shot back, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose. "You were adorably flustered, though."

Michael sighed, resigning herself to this. "When did you know?"

Chris eyed her, a shade amused. "You've been watching me since I showed up. At first I thought it was mistrust. Terralysium gave me a new perspective."

Michael swallowed against the instinctive rush of want, remembering. "That jacket was really distracting."

"I noticed. Can't find my way to regretting it," he said, dry, hand moving to curl around the back of her neck, just touch for the sake of touch. Warm.

Michael shook her head at him. "You knew and were really just going to let it lie?"

"Feelings are feelings, but actions are something else. It had to come from you," he murmured, resolute. Because he took his principles seriously, one of the many things she admired about him. 

She nodded between them. "We could have been here earlier."

Chris eyed her, knowing. "Could we?"

She took that in, considering, then finally tipped her head in acknowledgment. Fair enough. Still, she sighed. "Everyone figured it out. My Vulcan façade is slipping."

"Because you're human," he said, like it was the simplest thing in the galaxy. Then he smiled a little. "The people who figured it out just want you to be happy."

Michael looked at him—flushed, hair a mess, those startling eyes watching her with open admiration. "I am."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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